


The Gryffin-Slayer and His Queen

by imaginary_golux



Series: La Vie de Finn [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Arthurian, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Once and Future King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:03:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8395654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: Finn is the long-lost king of Logres; Rey is the most beautiful and dangerous woman in the world, destined to be his queen. Between them, they will hold Logres as a last bastion against the encroaching Empire.Also, this time no one's going to end up in a nunnery.Beta by my absolutely delightful Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.





	1. Chapter 1

Up until Finn is eighteen, he thinks he has no father. He’s pretty dubious about having ever had a mother, too. He is a ward of the Empire, raised in one of the many barracks in which wards spend their childhoods, trained to be a warrior for the Empire’s glory. He spends a lot of time with the stablemaster and the huntsmen, because he is good with animals and _they_ don’t look at him like he’s an inconvenience, not the way Nines or Zeroes or Slip or the instructors do. (Finn is, though he doesn’t know it, quite the favorite among the common folk of the nearby lands, because he is kind, gentle, courteous, and will not stand to see cruelty; and so the stablemaster and the huntsman, the villagers and the castle servants, collude willingly to give the youngest of their lady’s wards the sanctuaries he so ardently desires.)

But the instructors do their duty, regardless of how inconvenient they find it, and so Finn _is_ trained in the arts of war, as befits a ward of the Empire, and - to the irritation of his fellow wards - he is very, very good at them. With a sword in his hand, he is only barely short of unstoppable, and he has equal skill with the bow and the axe and the jousting lance.

The other wards in the barracks dream of joining the invincible armies of the Emperor, of serving under the famous General Hux the Younger or the intimidating Lord Ren himself, even of coming to the attention of the invincible Lady Knight Phasma. But Finn - Finn doesn’t share their dreams.

He dreams, instead, of becoming a knight errant once he is grown, a warrior without peer, riding out to protect the helpless and succor the innocent, some mighty sword in hand, a bright shield on his arm. And he knows where he will go to do it, too: distant Logres, far outside the borders of the Empire. Knights are _needed_ in Logres these days. The widowed king died fifteen years ago, and no heir has come forward; the kingdom has dissolved into half a hundred warring states, and bandits and strange creatures roam the forests at will. The Baroness uses the kingdom as a prime example of the foolishness of disorder, of not accepting the benevolent rule of the Empire, but Finn thinks it sounds exciting. A knight errant can earn himself a name and a fortune in such a land without too much trouble. Someday, if he is very lucky, Finn of nowhere in particular might be known as Finn the Bold or Finn the Valiant or Finn of the Broad Shield or some other heroic epithet - someday, he might even be able to gather a whole band of other knights together, good men and true, who could scour the forests of bandits and dangerous creatures and begin to make Logres safe again for its people.

He doesn’t _tell_ anyone about that dream, because he’s reasonably sure it would get him beaten. The instructors have made it very clear that as soon as he is an adult, they will be sending him to the army, to whichever division will take him, and getting him out of their hair. But surely if he’s being sent to the army, Finn will be able to escape whatever minders are sent with him, to go west into the setting sun and find Logres. From there - well, he doesn’t have much of a plan, but surely _something_ will turn up.

On his eighteenth birthday, therefore, Finn _expects_ to be given a sword and informed that he is being sent to the army. What actually happens, however, is a little different.

He comes downstairs, tidy and presentable despite the early hour (the instructors insists that their wards be properly put together at all times) to find a strange man talking to the lead instructor. The stranger is old, with a grey-brown beard longer than Finn has ever seen before, at least a foot shorter than the instructor and dressed in travelworn brown robes, like some of the hermits Finn has met in the forest.

“This is Master Skywalker,” the instructor says without preamble when she sees Finn approaching. “You will accompany him. Obey him as you would me.” She sweeps away, straight-backed and terrifying as ever, and Finn bows to Master Skywalker in confusion.

“How soon can you be ready to travel?” Master Skywalker asks. Finn winces a little. This, then, is the man who will take him to the army - or - he does not _look_ like one of the Empire’s officers. Perhaps this is not quite what Finn is expecting.

“An hour, perhaps, Master Skywalker,” he replies honestly. “Might I inquire where we are going?”

Master Skywalker cracks a very tiny smile. “Why, we are going to Logres, of course.”

*

Rey is scavenging scraps from the rubbish heap behind the smithy when she hears the commotion out front, in the main street. She scrambles up onto the roof of the smithy to see what’s going on - it’s always wise to know what any disturbance in town might be. Sometimes it’s bandits; sometimes it’s a fair. Either way, it’s best to see it coming.

Today, the disturbance is a procession, knights in armor surrounding a woman in a white gown riding the most beautiful horse Rey has ever seen. The woman wears a sword, which startles Rey a little, and she has a circlet on her head of gleaming gold. Rey is so intrigued by the sight that she leans out too far, and the tile beneath her feet slips, dumping her unceremoniously onto the ground in the middle of the procession, her staff trapped beneath her uncomfortably. She lies there gasping, the breath knocked out of her, and when she finally gets her breath back and looks up, it’s to find the woman from the procession standing over her, a faint smile on her face. The crowned woman looks her over carefully, and then offers her a hand.

Rey takes it, baffled, and stands, clinging to her staff as the world wobbles a little around her. The crowned woman smiles a little more widely. “I think,” she says quietly, “that you may be exactly the person I have been looking for. Will you come with me, child?”

Rey stares at her, and the strange gift which has kept Rey safe for so many years, telling her which people are likely to give her a scrap of food or a few days of paid work, and which are likely to cuff her or offer her true violence, tells her that this woman is exactly what Rey has wanted for all her fifteen years: family.

“Yes,” she says, and the woman folds Rey into a warm, utterly perfect embrace.

*

Finn hasn’t stopped smiling since they crossed the border into Logres. It’s a beautiful country, despite the current disorder, and the people - somewhat to his surprise - look like _Finn_. The people of the Baroness’s lands were all as pale as she was, and mostly quite tall; Finn got used to having a shorter reach than his opponents, and to making up for it in speed and skill. But the people of Logres are as dark as Finn is, and he is of just about middling height among them. It’s a wonderful sort of feeling, like opening an unfamiliar door and walking into one’s own house.

They’ve been traveling across Logres for three days when Finn’s curiosity finally gets the better of him. Master Skywalker is a very silent companion - some days only ten words pass between them, if that many - and Finn is good at being quiet, but he’s practically _desperate_ by this point. “Master Skywalker,” he asks as they stop for luncheon, “why are we in Logres?”

Master Skywalker eats his bread and cheese slowly. Finn has learned it’s not worth trying to hurry him. “What do you know of Logres?” he asks at last, instead of answering Finn’s question.

Finn considers. “It is one of the so-called Free Lands, those which have thus far resisted being conquered and amalgamated into the Empire,” he says. “It is bordered by Yavin to the south, the Skellig Islands to the west, the Wild Lands to the east, which we have just come through, and the Northern Sea. Its king died fifteen years ago, leaving no heir, and Logres has been in a state of disarray since then.”

Master Skywalker nods approvingly. “Right in almost every particular,” he says. “The king, may the gods smile on his memory, fathered a son.”

Finn’s eyes go wide. “He _did_?”

Master Skywalker nods. “The child was born some three years before the king’s death,” he continues. “But he was hidden away, on the advice of one of the king’s advisors, because the king feared that a child would be in danger. The king was assassinated, which does seem to prove the wisdom of his caution. But before he died, he caused an enchantment to be placed upon his sword, such that only a child of his blood could lift it.”

The little speech is the most Finn has heard Master Skywalker speak since they met, which is almost as startling as the content of the words.

“So where do I come into this?” he asks at last.

Master Skywalker gives him another of those tiny, cracked-stone smiles. “Well, I’ll tell you that after you’ve tried to lift the sword.”

*

“Me, a _princess_?” Rey asks incredulously. “Are you _sure_ you’ve got the right girl?”

“Absolutely positive,” Queen Leia replies, smiling gently.

“But I don’t know how to be all - all graceful and royal like you,” Rey protests weakly.

“My dear,” Queen Leia says softly, “that can be taught. But your spirit, your courage and good sense, your great heart - those cannot be taught. And the Skellig Isles will need a queen like you, in years to come. The Empire will not long be content to digest its current conquests. Soon, they will turn their eyes westward again, and then we who wish to remain free will have a great war on our hands. The Skellig Isles will need a warrior queen, one who does not know the meaning of surrender. One as brave as she is wise. One who can see the truth in other’s hearts. A queen like you will be.”

Rey thinks about this, relaxing slowly. “Alright,” she says at last. “I can learn to be regal.” She adjusts her grip on her ever-present staff, and grins at the queen, toothy and fierce. “And I already know how to fight.”

“I know,” Queen Leia replies, matching her grin for feral grin. “That’s why I chose you.”

*

Finn’s more than a little nervous about trying to lift the dead king’s sword. If he fails, well, maybe he can go off and be a knight errant anyway, but if he _succeeds_ -

If he succeeds, that means his father was a king, his mother a queen. It means he’ll be king of a battered country, one that he _knows_ is next on the Empire’s list of countries to conquer, once they get their internal politics sorted out. It means he’ll never again be simply Finn.

He’s honestly not sure if he wants to fail or not.

The ancient chamberlain who is apparently the caretaker of the near-empty royal castle clearly recognizes Master Skywalker, welcoming him with a wide smile and a clap on the shoulder. Then he sees Finn and startles badly.

“My lord?” he asks, and leans forward to see Finn better. “Oh - oh. I beg your pardon, young sir. I thought you were someone else. The shadows, you see - for a moment you were the spitting image of - well. I am maundering.”

“You are not far wrong, old friend,” Master Skywalker says quietly. “We have a certain errand in the chapel.”

The chamberlain startles again. “In - in the chapel?” he asks faintly. “Oh, can it be? Truly? Our young lord we all thought dead, come back to us at last?”

“Let us find out,” Master Skywalker says, and the ancient chamberlain leads them at a surprisingly brisk pace through the castle’s dim corridors to a beautifully-appointed chapel, its windows breaking the light of the setting sun into rainbows that turn the stone walls to glory.

On the altar lies a sword.

Finn can practically _hear_ it calling to him. It glows in the sunlight, golden and beautiful, and he crosses the chapel in a daze, drawn to it like iron to a lodestone. He doesn’t even notice Master Skywalker and the chamberlain following him, or the soft sounds as half a dozen other ancient servants trickle into the room, whispering to each other. The only thing he can think of is the sword.

When he puts his hand on the hilt, it sings a note that resonates through his soul. And when he lifts it, it feels like he’s found a lost limb, like something has slotted into place inside him that he never knew he was missing. The sword shines bright as the sun at midday, a light that comes from within the blade and not from the windows, and Finn is transfixed for long moments by its beauty. At last, though, when the light begins to fade to a soft and soothing glow, he turns from the altar, sword in hand, to find the watchers on their knees.

Master Skywalker smiles, a proper smile, broad and joyous. “Welcome home, Your Majesty,” he says. “Welcome home, King Finn.”


	2. Chapter 2

Three years in, Finn is finally starting to get used to being a king. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. Three years in, Finn has finally defeated the last lord who doesn’t think he _should_ be king - this one was foolish enough to insist on single combat, and Finn took a certain vindictive pleasure in battering the irritating fellow into whimpering immobility before taking his surrender - and has made a decent start on the project he’s been planning since he took the throne: gathering all the finest warriors in Logres under one banner, so that when the Empire attacks, Logres will have an army ready to meet them.

In the meantime, his knights are having a fairly good time clearing the bandits, bears, boars, and occasional gryffins out of the forests of Logres (and occasionally the northern end of Yavin or the western reaches of the Wild Lands, because it’s hard to tell where the border is when you’re hunting a boar through a dense forest). It teaches them to work together and gives them extra experience, which is nothing to sneeze at. Finn joins them whenever he can, and he practices with them morning and evening unless he’s actually at war.

He’s better with a sword than any of them, and only _some_ of that is the enchanted sword which is his inheritance and the symbol of his rule. There are two knights better with an axe, and three who can shoot a bow more accurately, but Finn is the best overall, and his knights take it as a point of pride that before any of them can join Finn’s army, they have to fight the king himself and earn his accolades.

If any of the candidates ever _beats_ Finn, he’s going to make that one King’s Champion on the spot.

But the fact remains, unfortunately, that Logres by itself isn’t going to be able to turn back the Empire. Master Skywalker pointed that out, but Finn had figured it out well before his advisor said anything. Nearly twenty years of disarray and war have taken their toll; Logres’ fertile fields are only now recovering, and Logres’ people are mostly focused more on getting their feet properly back under them than fighting. So when the messenger from the Skellig Isles arrives with an offer of alliance, Finn listens eagerly.

“Our Queen, Leia, understands that the Empire is and will continue to be a threat,” the messenger says. “Therefore she would like to offer a binding treaty between her kingdom and your own, to be formalized with the marriage of yourself to the heir to the Skellig throne, so that upon Queen Leia’s death or abdication, Skellig and Logres will become one country, ruled jointly by yourself and Crown Princess Rey.”

Finn’s breath hisses between his teeth. A marriage alliance - the might of the Skellig navy joined to the power of his own armies, the fields and seas of Skellig available to feed their joint forces - that might actually be enough to turn the tide against the Empire, to hold the border and keep Logres free. Finn knows nothing about this Crown Princess Rey except her name, but for an alliance as valuable as this one, he would marry a _gryffin_.

“I must consult with my council,” he says, keeping his voice even with an effort. “But I think we will have an answer for you before too long.”

They do.

*

Rey is fidgeting, which is unbecoming of a princess, but fifteen years of being a scavenger aren’t so easily overridden by three years of princess training. And while she _did_ agree to this - Skellig _needs_ this alliance in order to stand against the Empire, because if Logres is overrun the Isles are sure to follow, and what they know of King Finn is all very good - she’s not quite used to the idea yet, that she’s about to be married to a man she’s never met.

The messenger told her everything he could recall about the king, every scrap of information, and so Rey knows her betrothed is of middling height, clean-shaven and short-haired, dark of skin and eyes, broad of shoulders, soft-spoken, and not fond of ostentation. And that he’s one of the finest warriors anyone has ever seen. Apparently he can defeat any and all of his knights, and _they_ are the best in Logres.

Also, he’s devoted to bringing unity and justice to his people, and all of his servants are utterly devoted to him.

Hopefully, a man like that won’t be _too_ taken aback by a wife who carries a quarterstaff and prefers trousers to royal gowns. Rey would like to be able to _like_ her husband, after all, and if he tries to keep her from sparring or force her into dresses every day, well, he’ll get a quarterstaff upside the head, finest warrior in Logres or no.

The ship will reach the dock soon, according to the captain, and Rey knows that her betrothed will be waiting for her on shore. She has only a few more minutes of freedom.

She is very bad at waiting.

She’s on the deck as soon as she feels the ship nestle against the dock’s side, waiting impatiently for the ramp to be let down, and she doesn’t bother to wait for her bodyguards before she goes scampering down it. Let her future husband see her as she is, so they will have no misunderstandings between them.

There’s a man standing on the dock, flanked by knights in half-armor, who can only be King Finn. He is, as promised, dark of skin and eyes as the folk of Logres tend to be, broad of shoulders as befits a warrior, but the messenger neglected to mention the absolute glory of his smile. Rey stops at the bottom of the gangplank, staring. King Finn is staring back, and his smile grows wider with every moment. At last he steps forward and holds out a hand. Rey moves to take it.

He wears no gloves, and his skin is warm. It sends a thrill through her. He clasps her hand with gentle care, smiling down the scant few inches between them. “Welcome to Logres, your Highness,” he says quietly. His voice is warm and sweet, as beautiful as his smile. “I’m Finn.”

Rey smiles back as she reads his character in his eyes. Here, at last, is a man worthy of her company. “I’m glad to be here,” she replies, just as quietly, the words meant for no one but him. “Please call me Rey.”

“Rey,” Finn says, speaking the word like it is more precious than gold, and Rey stands there with her hand in his and smiles.

*

Finn watches his future wife come dancing down the gangplank and feels his throat go dry. She’s _beautiful_ , all fire and grace, a long staff in her hand with the marks of wear on it, glory in her flashing eyes. The messenger had said, when Finn asked, that the Crown Princess was a warrior in her own right, that she was fierce as a lioness, but somehow Finn had not quite expected such a marvelous woman. She pauses at the foot of the gangplank, and Finn steps forward and holds out a hand. There are formal words he should be saying, phrases his ministers have agonized over, but somehow the only words that come to mind are, “Welcome to Logres, your Highness. I’m Finn.”

She takes his hand and meets his eyes and it’s like being struck by painless lightning, glorious and terrifying and wonderful. “I’m glad to be here,” she tells him, and he can hear the truth in the soft words. “Please call me Rey.”

“Rey,” Finn says, glorying in the word, in her smile, in this perfect moment.

*

Rey is deeply pleased to learn that Finn has brought one of his own palfreys for her to ride, a beautiful grey dappled mare with a bright eye and a smooth gait. Rey is not the world’s _best_ rider, as she’d never actually ridden a horse until three years ago, but this horse is patient and well-trained, and Rey thinks she does a credible job. Certainly Finn looks impressed, there on his tall black gelding beside her. Then again, he’s been looking at her sort of besottedly since she got off the ship. She’s been looking at _him_ fairly besottedly since she got off the ship. He’s everything she never knew she wanted.

They’re headed for Caerleon, the capital of Logres, and for the wedding preparations which have been going on, so Finn tells her, for weeks. “So much cleaning,” he says, pulling a mournful face to make her giggle. “I think they’ve scrubbed every inch of the poor old castle, and I swear I saw someone accidentally scrub down my _chamberlain_.”

Rey makes an undignified snorting sound. “My mother’s ladies-in-waiting kept trying to measure me,” she replies, and revels in Finn’s broad, cheerful grin. “It got so bad that anytime I stood still for more than a minute, there were three of them fussing about me - I had to climb up on the roof to get any peace!” She grimaces back at the baggage train. “I _still_ don’t think I need that many dresses.”

“I will certainly not insist you wear dresses if you prefer not to,” Finn says promptly.

Rey smiles up at him. “Well, they’re fun for _sometimes_ ,” she admits. “But certainly not for riding. Or sparring.”

“On which note, your Highness,” Finn says, and Rey braces herself for him to tell her she can’t fight anymore, that it’s unbecoming of a princess who will soon be a queen - which conversation will end _really_ badly - she doesn’t think he will, but most men would, and an hour’s acquaintance isn’t _quite_ enough to salve her fears - “would you do me the honor of sparring with me this evening?”

Rey blinks, and then, slowly, smiles again. “It would be my pleasure,” she replies. “So long as you don’t mind being beaten by a lady.”

“Gracious lady,” Finn says, “any bruises you give me I will wear with pride.”

*

They spar that night when the whole sprawling caravan stops for the evening, Finn’s knights surrounding them and cheering Finn on, Rey’s sailors and marines clapping for their princess. Rey uses her quarterstaff, Finn a wooden blade weighted to match his sword - _that_ is not safe for sparring, as its edge will cut through anything.

Finn is both delighted and slightly astonished to find that Rey is _good_. Terrifyingly, wonderfully, _marvelously_ good. They trade blow for blow, neither gaining the upper hand: Finn is stronger, Rey swifter, and her shorter reach is more than compensated for by her quarterstaff, while his shield makes up for his shorter weapon somewhat. Round and round they battle in the cleared space at the center of their camp, neither managing a decisive blow, until at last Finn steps back and holds up a hand, bowing deeply to Rey when she lowers her quarterstaff and leans against it, breathing hard.

“Gracious lady,” he says solemnly, “I have never met a warrior who could match you.”

“Nor I you,” Rey says, sounding delighted, and holds out a hand. Finn tucks his wooden sword under his shield-straps and takes her hand, bows over it.

“We are well matched,” he says, meaning more than just the bout, and Rey huffs a soft, fond laugh.

“My lord, we are,” she replies, and Finn thinks the sweet smile on her face is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

*

That night after dinner, the bard that Queen Leia insisted on sending with Rey says, “Your Majesty, Your Highness, will you hear a tale?”

“What tale?” Finn asks, smiling. Rey puts a hand over her eyes, knowing what’s coming.

“ _The Princess Rey and the Pirate King_ ,” the bard says, settling his lute more comfortably over his lap.

“By all means, sing me that tale,” Finn says, grinning at Rey, who sighs deeply. The bard beams and starts to sing.

The tale is _greatly_ exaggerated, and Rey winces when the bard gets to the bit with the eight pirates and the grand speech she is supposed to have made. Finn leans over to murmur in her ear, “So, princess pirate-slayer, what _actually_ happened?”

Rey blinks at him. Finn shrugs. “I have bards too,” he points out. “They always get things a little...mixed up.”

Rey leans against Finn’s shoulder so they can speak without disturbing the music. “I _certainly_ didn’t make a speech,” she tells him. “But there _were_ eight of them.”

“Did it take you ten seconds to dispose of all of them, or only five?” Finn asks, and Rey can hear nothing in his tone but honest curiosity and admiration.

“Ten,” she admits. “One of them was smart enough to run away.”

“ _...Skellig never shall vanquished be / on land or on the sea_ ,” sings the bard, quoting the speech Rey is supposed to have made. Rey sighs again and scrubs at her forehead.

“I _never_ said that,” she adds.

“Bards,” Finn says, shrugging the shoulder she’s not leaning on. “What can you do?”

“Put them all in the stocks,” Rey grumbles, but Finn’s shoulder is warm and comfortable, and the crackling of the fire is pleasant, and she subsides into peaceful silence with a smile.

*

Finn’s mostly braced for it, the next night, when one of _his_ court’s bards declares that he will sing the _Lay of King Finn and the Gryffin_. Rey listens to the song with a placid, unreadable expression until the bard gets to the bit with Finn’s sword glowing with its own light as he draws it, and then leans across to murmur in Finn’s ear, “ _Really_?”

Finn grins back. “Actually that bit’s true,” he replies, just as quietly. “It’s enchanted - lights up every time I draw it. But this song _does_ leave out the bit about me being so badly wounded in the battle that I was unconscious for three days. I got a _spectacular_ scar.”

“Hmm,” Rey says, smiling. “You’ll have to show it to me someday, gryffin-slayer.”

“It would be my pleasure, vanquisher of pirates,” Finn says, matching her smile for smile.


	3. Chapter 3

Finn’s people have turned out in droves, lining the streets of Caerleon to cheer their king and his betrothed. Rey is honestly a little taken aback. The Skellig Isles are more lightly populated than Logres, and Ahch-To, the capital, has _maybe_ half as many people in it as Caerleon does. Rey hasn’t seen so enormous a congregation before.

Finn smiles down at her from his tall horse, leans down so she can hear him, and says, “The first time I had to make a speech, Master Skywalker said to imagine all the audience members were naked.”

Rey can’t help the scandalized giggles that erupt from her throat. “Does that _help_?”

“Not in the slightest,” Finn says merrily. “I nearly died of embarrassment when I tried it. But - you need _not_ imagine this, since it is quite true - they are all here because they are eager to learn to love you, you know.” His smile widens, grows sweeter. “As am I.”

Rey can feel herself flushing. “No one warned me you could sweet-talk the birds out of the trees,” she grumbles.

“I haven’t tried it on birds,” Finn muses. “D’you think gryffins would enjoy being flattered?”

Rey laughs again, and the last of her nervousness drains away. She bows to the crowd, and the resulting roar of enthusiastic cheering rolls over the procession like a breaking wave, carries them up the wide main street to the king’s castle like a ship brought in to shore. Finn swings off his horse and offers her his hand as soon as they reach the courtyard, and Rey takes it, follows him up a curving flight of stairs to a balcony overlooking the masses of people cramming the city’s market square.

“My people!” Finn cries, and Rey admires the volume he can produce. “My people, I bring you the Crown Princess of the Skellig Isles, the pirate-slayer, finest warrior of her people, our ally and our future queen: I bring you _Rey_!” He lifts their joined hands, and the crowd cheers again, and again. Rey is staggered by the volume, and staggered, too, by the way Finn described her. There was no effort, there, to conceal the fact that she is a warrior in her own right, to reduce her to a treaty-wife and nothing more; there was deep respect in Finn’s words, in the way he turns to bow over her hand, in the way he smiles into her eyes as he rises. Respect, and the seeds - the swiftly _sprouting_ seeds - of love.

He is her equal and her proper partner, a man who will never give her cause to doubt his love or his respect for her, and Rey leans forward, there on the balcony in front of hundreds of cheering people, and kisses him full on the mouth, and revels just a little in the expression of stunned and awestruck delight on his face as she pulls away.

*

Their wedding is a full day of pomp and circumstance, with speeches from every noble who thinks he should have a moment in the sun, both those of Logres and those who have come from the Skellig Isles. Master Skywalker performs the actual _ceremony_ , keeping it thankfully short and bearable, but the feast afterwards drags on for hours and hours, while Finn tries manfully to keep an attentive look on his face and watch the speechifying nobles, and keeps getting distracted by the warmth of Rey’s hand in his, the smile on her face every time he looks at her, the way she closes her eyes and hums in pleasure at the taste of the food.

But finally the very last noble has droned to a lengthy conclusion, and Finn’s knights stand from their places at the long tables and come forward in a horde, sweeping Finn and Rey up onto their shoulders and bearing them off triumphantly towards the royal apartments. Finn boggles - no one told him they were going to do this - and Rey squawks indignantly before she realizes what is happening, but the knights just laugh, depositing their baffled rulers at the door to Finn’s rooms.

“We’ll guard your sleep tonight,” Sir Temmin says, winking at Finn. “Or - well. Your _rest_ , anyhow.”

“I will make you run laps around the castle,” Finn threatens, and Sir Temmin laughs. He’s one of Finn’s best knights, steady and practical and talented, and Finn considers him a friend, insofar as a king can be friends with one of the men who he might have to send out to die.

“Not tonight you won’t,” Sir Temmin says easily, and Rey laughs at them both and takes Finn’s hand, pulling him into the bedroom after her and closing the door _firmly_ behind them, tucking her quarterstaff securely into a corner beside the door. But then she pauses, looking up at Finn speculatively.

“I don’t suppose you know what to do,” she says slowly. “Princesses aren’t supposed to take lovers, according to Queen Mama, so…” she shrugs. “I know the _basics_ , I mean, I’ve seen things…”

Finn is oddly charmed by the sudden lapse in Rey’s steel-hard self-confidence. “I can’t say I have a _lot_ of experience,” he tells her, “but yes, I know what to do.” He grins. “May I take you to bed, my queen?”

“My king,” Rey says, “you may.”

Finn does not sweep her up in his arms - he doesn’t know yet whether she would appreciate that, or if she would be offended or even frightened - but he does curl his arms around her waist and kiss her as well as he knows how, slow and sweet and gentle, trying to say without words how much he already adores her. From the way she sways against him, loops her arms around his neck to drag him closer, he thinks she understands.

And then she laughs against his lips and leaps, winding both legs around his waist, and Finn finds himself rather unexpectedly bearing her whole weight - and she is heavier than she looks, the weight of hard-won muscle on her lean form - and staggers a little in surprise, then gets his balance back and whirls her around, grinning down into her bright eyes.

“You are a marvel,” he informs her, and this time when he kisses her, it’s fierce and hungry, and Rey kisses back with gratifying enthusiasm.

*

A week ago, Rey was undeniably nervous about her wedding night. She saw enough, on the streets, to know that what men and women do together is not always pleasant for the woman, and it is the duty of a wife to accept her husband’s attentions, at least long enough to get an heir. (After that, Queen Leia had promised her, if she found her husband repulsive she would be allowed to ban him from her bedchamber - _that_ was written into the treaty.)

But that was then and this is now, this is _Finn_. Rey can’t be scared of Finn, not when he looks at her like she’s a goddess, not when he touches her so carefully and reverently, not when he smiles so brightly into her eyes and she can see his soul shining with love. She kisses him as well as she knows how - learns how to do it better from the way he moans when she bites at his lip, the way he staggers and leans against the bedpost when she sweeps her tongue into his mouth to taste that sound.

He manages to put her down on the bed gently despite her attempts to distract him, kisses her slow and sweet and moves his hands to the lacing of her gown. It is, she must admit, a lovely thing, deep green and flowing, her favorite of the ones Queen Leia ordered made, and Rey turns so that Finn can unlace it with gentle fingers, lets it fall from her shoulders to pool around her hips as Finn makes a soft, hungry sound behind her.

“I have never seen anyone so beautiful as you,” he murmurs in her ear. “You fight like a lioness, you dance like a goddess - the day your messenger came to offer an alliance was the luckiest day of my life.”

Rey laughs and leans back against him, looks down to admire the contrast between his dark hands and her fair skin as he trails his fingers wonderingly over her breasts and stomach. “Do the bards call you Silver-Tongue?” she asks idly. “For you flatter as well as any of my mother’s courtiers.”

“It isn’t flattery if it’s true,” Finn objects mildly.

Rey giggles and turns around in his arms, shoves him playfully. “Take off your clothes - I want to see you,” she orders him.

Finn gives her a full courtly bow, a grin playing around the corner of his mouth. “As my queen commands,” he says. It takes him only a few minutes to strip off his beautifully embroidered tunic and breeches, leaving them piled neatly on a chair by the door. Rey looks away for just long enough to wriggle out of her gown, and then lets herself stare.

Finn might claim she is beautiful, but _he_ is stunningly gorgeous. Rey’s seen men naked before, but she’s never _looked_ , never wanted to feast her eyes the way she does tonight. The candlelight makes Finn’s dark skin shine like the night sky spangled with stars. She wants to run her hands down his broad chest, wants to taste the hollow of his throat, wants to know every plane of his body as well as she knows her own.

She wants to see the look in his eyes, of admiration and wonder and desire, every day for the rest of her life.

Finn is waiting, she can tell, holding himself back so as not to startle her, and Rey puts all her joy and love into her smile, opens her arms and says, “Come here, husband.”

*

Finn doesn’t need to be invited twice. This is _Rey_ , after all - she’ll tell him if he does something she doesn’t like. Or possibly launch him bodily out of the bed. Either way, he’ll know if he gets something _wrong_. So he kisses his wife, uses every trick he’s ever learned to make her gasp and moan and sigh against his lips, and only when Rey is making tiny, half-desperate noises with every breath does he tear his mouth from hers and kiss his way down the long line of her lovely neck.

Rey sprawls out on the bed, panting a little already, and Finn follows her down, gluts himself on the sight of her, on the sounds she makes when he licks at the gentle curve of her breasts or strokes the soft skin of her stomach or kisses the arch of her hipbone. Finn pauses for a moment, kneeling between her feet, to look up the bed at her. She glows in the candlelight like a flame herself, and when she looks down to see why he has stopped moving her eyes catch the light and blaze like the sun. Finn’s breath catches in his throat.

“Let me,” he says hoarsely, and Rey nods before he can even finish the sentence. Finn bends eagerly to his chosen task, drapes her legs over his shoulders and licks her open hungrily. Rey makes an astonished, delighted sound and reaches down to pull his head closer, and Finn laughs against her skin and licks again, buries his face happily between her legs and sets himself to making her moan and writhe and scream in pleasure.

He’s sort of absurdly smug when Rey arches up against his tongue and shakes with pleasure, coming with a long sweet moan that makes Finn whimper with desire.

*

“Salt and stone,” Rey pants, collapsing limply back against the bed as the waves of pleasure begin to ebb. “Silver-Tongue I named you, and Silver-Tongue you are, my gryffin-slayer!”

Finn chuckles. “Shall I do that again, then?”

Rey shakes her head. “Tomorrow, yes. But for tonight - come, show me the rest of it.”

Finn nods and crawls up the bed until he is lying beside her. Rey rolls over and runs a hand down his broad chest, and Finn sighs contentedly, lets her explore to her heart’s content. Rey sits up after a while so she can use both hands, maps out the breadth of Finn’s shoulders and the curve of his ribs and the strong lines of his thighs. Finn leans against her stroking hands, humming happily, and ends up sprawled out on his stomach when he overbalances. Rey’s breath hisses in surprise.

“That is the gryffin’s scar,” she says quietly. There is a band of knotted skin down Finn’s back, appallingly broad and terrifyingly near his spine. Finn nods.

“It is,” he agrees. “I hope you do not find it too hideous.”

Rey runs a gentle hand down it. “You lived,” she said at last, “and triumphed. It is as beautiful as all the rest of you.” She bends to press a kiss to the very top of the scar, and Finn rolls over and gathers her close, kisses her softly. Rey finds herself sprawled out atop him, straddling his hips, and rocks back up on her knees to look down at him. Finn looks...Finn looks almost dazed with pleasure as he stares up at her, hands gentle on her hips.

“Can we -” Rey asks, not quite sure where to go from here. “Like this?”

Finn nods. “It’s easier like this,” he says, “for a first time.” And - that makes sense. Rey’s not sure she’d want to be pinned beneath him, as she’s seen other women pinned by their partners - not this time, anyhow. Perhaps some other evening, when she knows what she is doing. But for tonight, having Finn spread out beneath her, his broad chest warm beneath her hands, sounds very fine indeed.

“Show me,” she says, and Finn takes a hand from her hip long enough to guide his manhood just barely into her where she is wet and aching from his clever tongue. Ah. So _that’s_ how this works. Rey lets herself sink down onto him, slow as honey from a honeycomb, and watches the pleasure wash across his face, and glories in it.

It doesn’t hurt at all, somewhat to her surprise, between the slow pace of her movements and the pleasure Finn has already given her, and when he’s sheathed in her to the hilt, she sighs and leans down to kiss him. “Show me,” she says again, and Finn moans against her lips, clutches at her hip with one strong hand and brings the other up to stroke her hair, gentle and careful despite the desire glowing in his eyes, and starts to move in long, slow thrusts that make Rey think of nothing so much as the waves that wash the beaches of the Skellig Isles.

She learns his movements, matches them as easily as she does when they spar, rides him slow and sweet until he slides a hand between them and brings her gasping to another peak, until he shakes and cries out beneath her in pleasure. And then she slumps down onto his chest, and Finn wraps his arms around her and holds her close, kisses the top of her head and murmurs sweet things that make her smile.

Marriage, Rey decides, is going to be quite a pleasant thing.


	4. Chapter 4

Finn wakes with the dawn birdsong, and rolls over to watch the sunlight limn the contours of his wife’s face. His _wife_ \- his Rey, beautiful and deadly and glorious. She opens her eyes at a particularly loud chirp from outside, and smiles at Finn, then leans forward to kiss him, sweet as honey.

“Good morning, Rey,” Finn murmurs as the kiss ends. Rey sighs happily.

“Good morning, Finn.”

“So,” Finn says, reaching out to tuck a lock of his wife’s hair behind her ear, “d’you want to go see if the two of us can run my knights into the ground?”

Rey giggles. It’s a beautiful sound. Finn resolves to see if he can make her laugh as often as possible. “Not very traditional,” she says, through her laughter. “For a honeymoon, I mean.”

“No,” Finn agrees, hoping he hasn’t managed to offend her.

“It sounds _perfect_ ,” she says gleefully, kisses him again, and rolls out of bed. Finn watches her go, enjoying the view. She is a _stunningly_ beautiful woman.

She glances back at him and laughs. “Well, come on.”

“As my queen commands me,” Finn says, grinning, and slides out of bed to join her, reveling in the way she leans back against him as he loops his arms around her waist and buries his face in her hair. “I think Cethriee said he’d had your luggage unpacked into the left-hand wardrobe, though of course if you want your own rooms, it can all be moved.”

Rey snorts. “Having my own rooms would make it much harder for me to do this,” she points out, turning around in the circle of his arms and kissing him. “So let’s not bother.”

Finn can’t help the silly smile on his face. She wants to stay with him - in his rooms, in his bed, in his life as more than treaty-wife and mother of his heirs. It’s...it’s _glorious_.

“Knights,” he reminds her - and himself - after a moment. “But first - I _suspect_ Cethriee will have had us brought a bath. He knows I wake early.”

It turns out he’s quite right, and there’s a huge basin of steaming water waiting for them in the bathing room next door to the bedroom. Rey sinks into it with a long sigh and leans back against the rim of the basin, luxuriating in the warmth of the water. Finn wants to join her, but first -

“May I wash your hair?” She has _lovely_ hair, smooth and soft and a beautiful shade of brown, long enough to reach her waist when it’s unbound. Last night Finn gloried in the feel of it under his hands; this morning he wants desperately to see if he can keep that expression of joy and relaxation on his wife’s face a little longer.

“Sure,” Rey says, smiling up at him, closes her eyes and hums with pleasure as he sets about his self-appointed task. “It’s such a hassle,” she adds contemplatively, “but Queen Mama says queening is three parts being too stubborn to back down and one part really impressive hairdos.”

Finn laughs, delighted. “I should like to meet Queen Leia, one of these days.”

“You’d like her,” Rey says. “She’s fierce.”

“If she is anything like her daughter, I shall adore her,” Finn says contentedly.

*

Rey suspects she has a truly ridiculous grin on her face as she and Finn head out of the castle to the training grounds, her hand on his arm in proper courtly fashion. The fact that they’re both wearing padded doublets and trousers suitable for weapons practice does cut down on the ‘courtly,’ though. Rey likes gowns well enough, in their place, but today - today she plans to see just how good her new husband’s knights really are. And then perhaps she will ask Finn if he’d like to spar with her again. _That_ was the most fun she’s had in months - well, outside a bedroom, anyhow. Last night’s amusements were _certainly_ worth repeating.

There are a _lot_ of knights in the training grounds, stretching or running through basic stances or chatting happily in little groups. They all straighten up when they see Finn and Rey, though, and bow deeply to the royal couple. The one who teased Finn last night - Sir Temmin, Rey thinks he is - comes forward with a smile.

“We did not think to see you today, my liege, my lady queen,” he says merrily. “Surely there are more interesting things to do than enjoy our warlike company?”

“My queen would like to see the mettle of my knights,” Finn replies, slanting a smile at Rey. She shifts her grip on her quarterstaff and grins back.

The knights who were part of the group who escorted Rey to the capital look slightly apprehensive, but those who were not witness to her sparring match with Finn glance at each other and puff themselves up a little. Apparently the gossip hasn’t spread properly yet. “We would be honored to spar for our queen’s pleasure,” one of them says.

“Ah,” Finn says, “I am misunderstood. My queen would like to spar _with_ my knights.”

There’s a brief pause, and then the knight barks a laugh. “My liege is pleased to jest,” he says. “We would not be so crude as to do injury to a _woman_.”

Finn sighs, and glances at Rey. “Please don’t break him irreparably,” he says. “I need my knights, even the rather stupid ones.”

Rey nods to Finn and takes her hand off his arm, steps forward and takes up a battle-ready stance with her quarterstaff. “You will not do me injury,” she assures the arrogant knight. “I make no such promises to you, however.”

“Come now!” the knight says, scowling. “This is no jesting matter, my lady. The battlefield is no place for a woman.”

Behind Rey, Finn sighs, and she glances back to see him rubbing his forehead with a weary expression. “Sir Tasu,” he says, “if my queen is pleased to spar with you, then you will do her the courtesy of obliging her.”

Sir Tasu bristles, but he bows curtly. “As my liege commands,” he says, sounding a little bitter. The other knights form a ring around Rey and Sir Tasu, and a squire trots up with a blunt sword for the knight.

Finn claps Rey on the shoulder and murmurs in her ear, “He’s almost as good as he thinks he is, but he could use the arrogance knocked out of him, pirate-slayer.”

Rey grins at him. “Well, I think I can do that.”

Finn steps back out of harm’s way, and Sir Temmin cries, “Begin!” Rey doesn’t bother to wait for Sir Tasu to attack. She’s good at waiting, but she’s got a temper, and he has managed to rouse it.

*

Finn watches his wife beat Sir Tasu back and back around the sparring circle, and can’t help the rather smug smile on his face. Sir Tasu hasn’t gotten a single hit in, much as Finn expected, but _Rey_ has gotten hits in. Many of them. Even with the padding, Sir Tasu is going to be black-and-blue tomorrow, and Finn suspects his ribs might be cracked, too, from the way he’s wincing.

The man was a mercenary, once, and Finn thinks he really should have known better than to challenge Rey. Surely mercenaries encounter female warriors now and again? But Sir Tasu is also very good at not seeing the obvious until it smacks him in the face, which it is now doing.

Rather literally.

Rey breaks Sir Tasu’s nose with a _beautifully_ pulled blow - if she hadn’t pulled it, he’d be _dead_ , and everyone watching knows it - and then sweeps his knees out from under him, knocking his sword from his hands almost as an afterthought. Sir Tasu boggles up at her, blood streaming down his face.

“Yield,” Rey says, voice like stone, and Sir Tasu gulps and nods.

“I yield, my queen,” he says. Rey nods and steps back, grounding the foot of her quarterstaff and leaning casually against it as she turns to look at Finn. Finn beams.

“Well fought, queen of battles,” he says, and glances around the circle. “Do you wish to spar again?”

“If there is any who will face me,” Rey says, a little smugly.

“I will,” Sir Temmin says, stepping forward. “It will be most instructive. _Normally_ I only lose as badly as that to our king, after all.”

Rey grins at him. “Come then,” she invites, and Sir Temmin bows to her and takes the practice sword from his squire. Finn settles back on his heels and watches happily as his wife takes up her staff again and dances into battle. _Damn_ , she’s beautiful. Finn is a lucky, lucky man.

*

Rey grounds her staff again after Sir Temmin yields - far more gracefully than Sir Tasu did, but then, Rey didn’t actually _break_ Sir Temmin the way she did Sir Tasu - and turns to look at Finn. “Now that I’ve had a warmup,” she says, grinning at Sir Temmin’s sigh of resignation, “will you spar with me, my king?”

“My queen, it would be my utmost honor,” Finn replies, bowing deeply, and Rey feels warm all over, because Finn _means_ that. He does not lie well, she suspects, not her sweet-hearted husband.

But he does _fight_ well, and Rey gives herself over to the joy of battle, to the glory of having found someone, at _last_ , who is truly her equal in the arts of war. Finn is fast and strong and ruthless - he does not give her any touches she does not _earn_ \- and they dance together, weapons clattering against each other, until Rey is dripping with sweat and smiling fit to crack her cheeks.

“Enough,” Finn says at last, and Rey steps forward into the curve of his shield-arm and kisses him, hard, the way she _wanted_ to the first time they sparred. Somebody whistles, and several of the knights begin to clap, but Finn ignores them, wraps his arms around her and kisses back as hungrily as Rey could desire.

“Well fought, my queen,” he murmurs when they break the kiss.

“You as well,” she replies, smiling up at him. “I can see why you’re called ‘the Invincible’ by the bards.”

“In battle, perhaps,” Finn says, and the mischievous look in his eyes warns her before he adds, “but you have vanquished my heart entirely.”

“Your tongue is as talented as your sword,” Rey grumbles. Finn’s smile gets wider, and then he _winks_ , and Rey’s cheeks go hot as she remembers their night together. “ _Not_ what I meant,” she adds, and then, winking back, “though that’s true too.”

To her immense pleasure, Finn actually looks like he’d be blushing if he weren’t so dark. Hah.

“A touch, a touch,” Finn says, yielding the point gracefully, and then looks up. “We should let my knights have their sparring ground back, I suppose.”

“I _suppose_ ,” Rey admits, and they pull away from each other, nod regally to the assembled knights - who are mostly trying hard to look like they haven’t been staring at their king and queen embracing in the middle of the training grounds - and head for the castle and the cool baths Rey certainly _hopes_ are waiting for them.

*

The rest of the day is given over to celebrations, as befits the day after the king’s marriage, and Finn spends it with Rey by his side as they listen to speeches and blessings, ride out into the city to greet their people, and feast with the court. He’d _rather_ be out fighting gryffins than listening to his courtiers blather on - he’s always happier with his sword in his hand and a clear objective - but with Rey beside him, murmuring occasional biting comments in his ear, court isn’t nearly as interminable as it could be.

And in the days which follow, Finn learns - to his ever-growing pleasure - that Rey is as wise and clever, as patient and observant, as truly _regal_ as he could ever have desired in a queen. When he has to ride out with his knights, she stays in Caerleon to rule in his place, and he returns each time to find that she has done exactly as he would have, that everything has gone as smoothly as he could have dreamed. And when _Rey_ rides out with his knights, Finn stays in Caerleon and misses her desperately and waits eagerly for her to return with tales of the adventures she has had. Now that there are _two_ royals, the workload is far easier to bear. It used to be that Finn would come back to Caerleon to find an enormous backlog of petitions and decisions to be made; now he has someone to share those duties with.

And apart from those times when one or the other rides out to do battle, they are rarely far from each other’s sides. They spar together, they eat together, they sleep together, they spend lazy hours in easy, delightful conversation together. Finn _adores_ his warrior wife, gives thanks every morning that the bride his treaty brought him is the woman best suited to him in all the world.

“My Rey of sunshine,” he calls her every morning when they wake, and Rey laughs at him and kisses him, pulls him out of bed to start the day with a grin as bright as the morning sun.

Even with the looming threat of the Empire overshadowing all their joy, Finn doesn’t think he could ever be happier than he is when Rey gifts him with that glorious, world-lighting smile.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s Rey who comes up with the idea, some six months after their marriage. Finn is poring over the reports from his knights errant, who are tasked with wandering about Logres finding problems and dealing with them, or sending word back to Caerleon if they run into something too big to handle, and rubbing his forehead. Rey drapes herself over his back and takes over rubbing his temples. Finn gets _nasty_ headaches sometimes, and he claims her fingers soothe them when nothing else will. But then, she’s never found anything that cures cramps the way his warm and gentle hands can. So maybe he’s not just flattering her.

“What is it this time, my gryffin-slayer?” she asks.

“We’re spread too thin,” Finn sighs wearily. “And there are _still_ too few of us. Master Skywalker says his sources in the Empire suggest they’re getting ready to move - maybe two years from now, maybe three, but when they _do_ it’ll be like an avalanche, and we still don’t have enough knights, let alone the _rest_ of an army.”

“Mmmm,” says Rey thoughtfully. She’s seen the same reports Finn has, and has come to the same conclusions. “I know you’ve been recruiting,” she says finally, “but - have you considered holding an open tournament? Make it open to _everyone_ , male or female, noble or common, from Skellig or Logres or Yavin or the Wild Lands - hells, even from the _Empire_. You can’t be the only one who was raised there and wants to leave. Different divisions for archers and foot soldiers and knights. Make it the biggest event in a decade, bigger than our wedding even. Who knows? Worst comes to worst, we’ll get at least a _few_ new warriors under our banner.”

(The banner in question has been redesigned since the wedding. Finn’s glowing sword used to blaze in solitary majesty on the purple background; now it is crossed by a quarterstaff, and the weapons are surmounted by a single crown. Finn thinks it looks better like this. So does Rey, honestly.)

“Hmm,” Finn says, slewing around in his chair to kiss Rey gratefully. “I haven’t really had _time_ to hold a tournament ere now, but between your folk catching every pirate in the Skellig Sea and our knights decimating the bandit population, there’s a lot less for us to do, and most of it can be handled by the knights errant - you know, it might work. A tournament. Hmm.”

“With the winner of the knightly contests fighting you,” Rey suggests, grinning, “and whoever wins the infantry contests fighting _me_.”

“That hardly seems fair,” Finn says, rising and sweeping her up into his arms. Rey laughs and loops her arms around his neck as he carries her out of the office, heading towards their rooms. “I thought we wanted to _attract_ people, not scare them away.”

“Oh, they’ll come,” Rey assures him, and fumbles behind her for the doorknob, since Finn’s hands are full. “For a chance to say they crossed swords with Finn the Invincible? They’ll come in _droves_.”

“I should think they’d rather match weapons with Rey the Incomparable,” Finn objects, kicking the door to their rooms shut behind him. “I know _I_ would.”

“You’re a bit biased, my king,” Rey points out. Finn laughs and drops her gently onto their bed. Rey sprawls out, luxuriating in the lambswool blankets.

“Yes, I am,” Finn says, looking her over with an expression Rey has come to eagerly anticipate. “It is my firm opinion that there is no finer warrior, nor no more beautiful woman, in all the kingdoms of the world, than my Rey of sunshine.”

“Flatterer,” Rey says smugly. “Come here.”

Finn obeys.

*

Word of the tournament goes out as soon as Finn can get the whole thing set up - which admittedly takes weeks, but it’s something to _do_. The tourney will be held in the wide plains east of Caerleon, in three months’ time from the announcement, and Finn authorizes the use of the invaluable trained pigeons to carry word from the northernmost tip of Logres to the southernmost reaches of Yavin and the westernmost outposts of the Skellig Isles, sends out all of his bards with strict orders to spread the word as far and wide as they can. Knights and archers and foot soldiers start showing up within weeks of the announcement, and Finn and Rey spend the months before the tournament running about like headless chickens trying to keep the roads clear, the visitors under control, and everyone fed. Finn falls into bed every night more exhausted than he’s been in years.

“I will be _glad_ when this is over,” he sighs one evening.

“And I,” Rey agrees, flopping over to rest her head on his chest. “Let’s not do this again.”

“No,” Finn says wearily. “ _Small_ tournaments, perhaps. For just a few duchies at a time. Exhibition jousts when your mother comes to visit next year. Shooting competitions at midsummer. But never again something this large.” He sighs. “But it _is_ working. We will have an army the envy of any kingdom in the world, when this is done.”

Rey props herself up on an elbow to look down at him. “Do you - do you think it will be enough? When the Empire comes?”

Finn reaches up to stroke her shining hair. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “But I think it will. I think, with us leading - even if we both fall in battle, even if our army is battered to pieces - I think we can prevail. Logres will live; the Isles will survive. We will endure.”

Rey frowns down at him. “Don’t you speak of falling in battle,” she says. “That gryffin couldn’t kill you, and the Empire shan’t either! We’ll send them bleeding back to their damned Emperor, and live to see our grandbabies earn their spurs.”

Finn smiles sweetly up at her. “As you command, my queen,” he says, and then surges up, rolling them both over as Rey squeaks in surprise. “So. About those grandbabies…”

Rey laughs, and Finn leans down to taste her mirth, glorying in her sigh of pleasure.

*

The first day of the tournament dawns bright and clear, and Rey is almost bouncing as she and Finn proceed to their viewing box. Today is for the initial rounds of archers and infantry - neither of the royals will fight, and so Rey is wearing one of her formal gowns, a beautiful drape of blue fabric that makes her look, so Finn claims, like a sea-goddess.

In the morning, the archers compete, and Rey, who cannot shoot at all, cheers happily and indiscriminately for everyone. Finn laughs at her, but she doesn’t mind. She’s mostly delighted that the person who is almost certainly going to win the archery contests is another woman, a dark-haired peasant from the Skellig Isles who answers to ‘Pava.’ Rey is looking forward to having more women among the warriors of Logres - beating the everloving crap out of Sir Tasu every time he forgets that she is dangerous gets _old_ after a while, and having someone to share the burden of his stolid disbelief will be very pleasant.

The afternoon is set aside for the infantry competitions, and Rey watches more critically, since she’ll be taking on whoever wins the championship of _these_ mock battles. She doesn’t see anyone she can’t beat, though, which is both reassuring and depressing - on the one hand, she doesn’t care for losing, but on the _other_ hand, anyone who could beat her would be a warrior worth the having.

In the evening there is a feast, to which everyone who has passed the initial rounds is invited. Rey makes time to speak with Pava - Jessika, she discovers, is the woman’s given name - and finds her very congenial company indeed. Even if she _doesn’t_ win the archery competition, Rey plans to keep her around if at all possible.

The second day of the tournament is for the initial rounds of the knights’ competition, and _that_ turns out to be very interesting indeed.

*

Finn does not know the names of all the knights who have come to the tourney, because there are _far_ too many of them. Even his heralds are getting headaches, and _they_ already have a division of labor set up, so that there are specific heralds responsible for the knights from each country or region. So Finn’s not exactly _surprised_ that he does not recognize the device of the knight who defeats Sir Temmin in the first match. He _is_ surprised that Sir Temmin is so easily defeated, though. He’s one of Finn’s better knights.

Finn resolves to keep a close eye on the knight in the black armor with the shield quartered sable and tawny. Anyone who can defeat Sir Temmin that easily will be worth recruiting.

Sable-and-tawny doesn’t fight again for a while, and Finn is distracted by Rey’s chatter about the archer Pava, and by watching Sir Tasu get slapped silly by someone’s lady’s maid, and half a dozen other things; but then sable-and-tawny is called to the lists again, and Finn, catching sight of that black armor out of the corner of his eye, turns to watch sable-and-tawny _annihilate_ his next opponent. Finn hasn’t seen so swift and decisive a victory in a long time.

“Damn,” Rey says softly beside him, watching sable-and-tawny ride back to his squire. “He’s good.”

“ _Very_ good,” Finn agrees. He beckons a herald. “Who is he, the knight who just won that bout? Shield sable and tawny?”

The herald grimaces. “He gave no name, my liege. We have been calling him ‘the Black Knight’ for convenience.”

“Fascinating,” Finn says, grinning.

The herald nods. “He will not doff his helmet save in private, either,” he tells Finn. “He sent his squire to record his particulars in the lists.”

“A mystery,” Rey says. “How exciting!”

Finn nods. “I shall be very interested to see how this plays out,” he admits. “Bear him my compliments on this most recent match, herald, if you would be so kind.”

“Yes, my liege!” the herald says, bowing deeply and scurrying off towards the tents, where Finn can just make out the form of the Black Knight’s squire unharnessing the knight’s sleek black warhorse.

The Black Knight jousts twice more that day, and each time he wins his match decisively. Finn, watching him closely, thinks that he might, quite possibly, be almost as good - perhaps _equally_ as good - as Finn himself.

Which means, if he wins the tournament - as he is quite likely to do - then the final match, of Finn against the winner, is going to be _very_ interesting indeed.

*

The third day of the tournament is for the archers and foot soldiers, and Rey puts the mystery of the knight with the sable and tawny shield out of her mind, first to cheer for Pava, who does in fact win the archery competition, though by a rather slimmer margin than Rey had guessed - a gust of wind at a bad moment can do unpleasant things to even the best-aimed arrow, after all - and then for the final bout of the foot soldiers’ competition, the only one that Rey will fight.

The winner of the foot soldiers’ part of the tourney is a tall Logresian man who goes by Bastian and uses a halberd as his preferred weapon. Rey quite likes him, actually, as much for his skill as for the fact that when they enter the ring for their match, he bows deeply to her and says, “I don’t actually expect to win, your Majesty, but it’s an honor to have the chance to cross weapons with you.”

He is good - _very_ good - and it takes Rey a fair little while to defeat him. By the end of the bout, she’s grinning fiercely, has a bruise starting to show from a blow he managed to get through her guard, and is drenched in sweat, but Bastian is flat on his back with her staff planted beside his head, the strike she pulled to put it there one which would have been a killing blow in real combat.

“My queen,” Bastian says, “I yield.”

Rey grins and offers him a hand up. “Showing good sense as well as impressive skill,” she tells him. “We could use someone like you, my husband and I.”

“I know,” Bastian says, grinning. “I came in hopes of joining your armies.”

“Well,” Rey says thoughtfully, “I think I can definitely promise you _that_. But someone with your skills would be absolutely wasted in the ranks. Would you like to be a General, my friend?”

*

Bastian and Pava eat at the royal table that night, and Finn finds them both good company, sensible and well-spoken. By the end of the night, too, he has been brought word that almost two-thirds of the archers and foot soldiers who came for the tournament plan to join the army and stand against the Empire, which is the best news he’s had in a long time.

He is therefore in a fairly good mood on the morning of the fourth day of the tournament, and this is only enhanced by his anticipation of getting to match his skills against the knight with the sable and tawny shield. Rey laughs at him when he bounces out of bed.

“So eager to do battle, my gryffin-slayer?”

Finn grins at her. “Even as eager as you were to match your skills to Bastian’s, my queen of battles.”

“A touch, a touch,” she admits, taking his offered hand and letting him pull her out of bed. “What will you do if he defeats you?”

“Make him my Champion, if he will accept the role,” Finn says promptly. “And tell my bards to make up stories about _him_ for a while.”

Rey giggles delightedly, and Finn kisses her nose to make her wrinkle it up and laugh harder. “I’m not actually invincible,” he says quietly when she’s finished laughing. “And so long as I have Logres and you, my love, I set very little store by epithets and songs.”

“You are unfairly perfect, my king,” Rey sighs, and kisses him.


	6. Chapter 6

Finn’s not actually unduly worried about his upcoming match. Rey, with her keen eyes and that sixth sense which Finn has learned to trust implicitly, has already found all those among the knights and other competitors who mean harm to Logres or to its rulers, and those few have been carefully watched since she identified them; but the knight with the sable and tawny shield is not among them. So any injuries Finn sustains will be results of either his own errors or the Black Knight’s greater skill, and Finn has no fear of injuries gained in honorable battle.

He is sort of excited, though. It’s been a long time since he fought a _knight_ as skillful as himself. Rey, of course, can fight him to a standstill with her quarterstaff, and Finn has few hours so pleasant as those he spends in the sparring ring with his beautiful queen of battles, but Finn hasn’t fought a knight good enough to challenge him in...years. Which is good, it’s a _good_ thing he’s the finest warrior in Logres (with the single and wonderful exception of his wife), but it gets boring sometimes.

Rey kisses him for luck before she heads up into the viewing stands, as he kissed her before her bout with Bastian, and then Finn swings up onto the waiting warhorse and guides it into position at the end of the lists. At the other end, the Black Knight waits, his squire scrambling away.

The herald sounds his horn, and Finn couches his lance and sends his horse thundering forward, grinning fiercely behind his helmet’s visor. This is going to be _fun_.

The first pass, Finn’s lance shatters, and the Black Knight’s lance skids off of his shield. The second pass, the Black Knight’s lance shatters, and he manages to twist impossibly in the saddle so that Finn’s lancetip glances screechingly off of his armor.

But the third pass - the third pass, the Black Knight sets his lance and hits Finn’s shield squarely, and Finn can’t quite tell what the Black Knight does but it ends in Finn being _levered_ up out of his saddle, like an oyster out of his shell, and he tumbles back over his horse’s rump and manages to turn his ungainly sprawl into a roll, hauls himself back to his feet with the breath half knocked out of him and _laughs_ with all the air remaining in his lungs, because that - that was _marvelous._

“How did you _do_ that?” he asks the Black Knight, as the other man reins his horse around and rides dismounts. “That was magnificent - how is it done?” The herald is calling the news excitedly, that Finn the Invincible has been _unhorsed_ , but Finn is more interested in his opponent’s answer.

The Black Knight laughs, the sound distorted by his helmet but cheerful and sort of sweet nonetheless. “I should be honored to show you, Majesty.”

“Perhaps _after_ the swordplay, my liege?” the herald asks diffidently, and Finn laughs.

“Of course, of course,” he agrees, and takes the sword the herald hands him, while the Black Knight’s squire comes running up with his master’s sword and goes off again with the great black warhorse trotting behind him. One of Finn’s stablemen takes Finn’s horse away.

The swords are sharp, this being a proper tournament, but Finn is _not_ using the enchanted sword which marks his rule - it’s up with Rey, actually - because _that_ cuts through armor like butter, and this is supposed to be a friendly match, not a slaughter.

*

Rey watches closely as her husband and the Black Knight circle each other, swords gleaming in their hands. She was as surprised as anyone when the Black Knight actually _unhorsed_ her husband - Finn is _good_ with a lance, stunningly good, but that was no error on _his_ part, but extraordinary skill on the Black Knight’s side. Rey is, frankly, impressed. But she would bet on Finn with a sword in his hand against any living thing in the wide world, and that includes this Black Knight, whoever he may be.

And fuck, but Finn is _beautiful_ when he fights. He’s fast and agile, and even swords which are not his enchanted one flash like lightning in his hands. Rey leans her chin on her fist and sighs happily as Finn blocks one of the Black Knight’s blows and spins to strike like a serpent, unstoppable and glorious.

The Black Knight is good, there’s no denying that, but oh, Finn is better. Finn’s sword flashes in the sunlight until it looks like three swords, and his shield is wherever the Black Knight’s sword falls, ringing with each blow, and Finn himself is - is the Invincible warrior the bards have named him, the gryffin-slayer, the King Returned. Her Finn.

Still, the Black Knight _is_ holding his own, and for rather longer than most people manage it. Usually, Finn has disarmed his opponent by this point in a battle - well, unless his opponent is Rey, anyhow. But the Black Knight is still on his feet with his sword in his hand, though he’s retreating now, one slow step after another, as Finn advances on him.

Finn is, Rey suspects, enjoying this far too much. Well, to be fair, _she_ had an absolutely delightful time trouncing Bastian, so she can’t be terribly irritated with Finn for having fun fighting this Black Knight fellow. And there’s no denying the stranger is impressive, both in managing to unhorse Finn - something _none_ of Finn’s knights have ever managed - and in holding his own this long. If Rey were where Finn is, she’d be having fun too. And possibly drawing the bout out a little longer than completely necessary, just for the joy of fighting someone that good. As she suspects Finn is doing.

But then Finn darts forward, swift and sure, and his sword flickers in a pattern Rey has seen before - has blocked before - and the Black Knight does not _quite_ manage to move fast enough to counter it. His sword goes flying out of his hand, and Finn’s blade is at his throat in a moment.

The Black Knight drops easily to his knees. “I yield,” he says clearly, loud enough for the watchers in the stands to hear, and then something else that Rey misses because the hordes of onlookers start cheering as loudly as they can. To be fair, she’s cheering right along with them.

*

“I yield,” the Black Knight says, and Finn puts up his sword, grinning behind his visor, as the Black Knight adds, “to the finest warrior I have ever met.”

Finn chuckles and offers the Black Knight his hand. The other man takes it, rising - they are almost exactly the same height, Finn realizes - and then bowing a little. “It was an honor to match swords with you, Majesty.”

“And with you,” Finn says, pulling off his helmet. “You are the finest swordsman I have ever met, and the best with a lance. Your prize for winning this tournament is, of course, the finest sword our blacksmiths can provide, but I hold out hope that I might entice you to remain within my court, as well. You see, there is a seat which yet stands empty, which I hope to fill.”

The Black Knight chuckles, the sound echoing softly in his helmet. “You need a champion.”

“I need a champion,” Finn agrees.

“I have never been defeated since I came of age, except at your hands,” the Black Knight says. “I will stand as your champion, my king, until death takes me.”

“Be welcome, then,” Finn says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come now, and eat and drink with me, and meet my queen, who outshines the stars in glory.”

“Gladly,” the Black Knight replies. “Lead, my king, and I follow.”

Finn leads the way to the viewing stand where Rey waits, and the Black Knight bows low before her and finally removes his helmet, shaking back his dark hair and smiling up at the queen. Finn stares. He only manages to tear his eyes away long enough to look up at Rey and see that she’s thinking the exact same thing Finn is:

 _Oh fuck, he’s beautiful_.

And Finn has just asked him to stay.

*

Rey has seen a fair number of beautiful men in her nineteen years - her husband, for instance, who is as glorious as the night sky spangled with stars - but most of them have been courtiers, good for flattering words and little else. Finn is the only man she has ever met who was beautiful of soul and body alike, and _also_ a fine enough warrior to match her own skill.

But this man, this Black Knight smiling up at her, is as lovely of face as her husband, and his soul shining in his eyes is as bright, and he is very nearly as skilled as her husband with a sword, which means he’s very nearly a match for Rey, too. The combination is...unexpectedly and _dangerously_ appealing.

“Be welcome in Caerleon,” she says, letting her Queen Mama’s training take over while her mind runs in little circles. This sudden, intense desire isn’t _quite_ as strong as the moment she saw Finn on the dock and knew he was her proper match and mate, but it’s close.

“He has agreed to be our champion,” Finn says, and Rey can see in his expression that Finn is feeling something very similar to what she herself is, just now. Well, that’s a relief. At least they can pine over their new champion together. “But he has not yet told me by what name I shall announce him.”

The Black Knight chuckles ruefully. “I am called Poe, of Dameron in Yavin,” he says. “My father is the duke of that fair land. I thought it a grand jest, to come helmed and nameless like a ballad’s hero, and try my skill against the finest warriors in three lands.”

“Be welcome, then, Poe, Champion of Logres,” Rey says warmly. “Come; there is a feast prepared in your honor.” There is, too - Cethriee has been agonizing over this final and most magnificent feast for weeks. Rey is hoping that the enormous cake in the shape of the king’s castle is still intact, or the poor chamberlain might actually die of apoplexy.

“I’m sure the bards are working on the songs about our battle already,” Finn adds cheerfully, and Poe laughs aloud.

“Doubtless,” he agrees. “I have never heard of anything which stopped a bard from writing songs.”

“A pity,” Finn sighs, making Rey giggle. “I was going to ask my new champion to rescue me from their endless lutes.”

Poe laughs again. “My king,” he says, “I am only a champion, not a god.”

Oh _damn_ , Rey thinks as Finn bursts into delighted, glorious laughter. All that and a sense of humor too - that’s just not _fair_.

*

While everyone is getting cleaned up before the feast, Finn takes advantage of a moment of privacy with his wife to drop his head into the curve of her shoulder and whimper. “He’s fucking _beautiful_ ,” he complains.

“He really is,” Rey says, stroking Finn’s hair gently. “ _And_ he’s almost as good with a sword as you are, and better with a lance. And funny. And - kind. I think he’s kind.”

“You’re not helping, my Rey of sunshine,” Finn points out, raising his head to kiss her. “At all.”

“Yes I am,” Rey says, and kisses Finn hard enough to drive all thoughts of _anything_ else out of his mind. “See?”

“See what?” Finn asks dazedly some minutes later, pulling her closer and nuzzling her hair gently. “Mmm, do we have time -?”

“No,” Rey laughs. “We will be late to the feast as it is, my king.”

Finn sighs, kisses her very gently, and lets go of her. “Very well, let us go and be properly regal, then,” he says. “But tonight -”

“Tonight, my king,” Rey agrees, grinning. Finn offers his arm for her hand, and leads her down to dinner with a smile on his lips and his heart full of endless, perfect love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ends part 1 of La Vie de Finn! I have plans for parts 2-4, but you'll have to wait a while for those, I'm afraid.

**Author's Note:**

> This will update Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.
> 
> If anyone wants to come over and yell at me about how I'm butchering Arthurian mythology on tumblr, I'm imaginarygolux over there!


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